


Bad Things

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Extremely Vague Curses, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The witch's curse hits Lucifer in an unexpected way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Things

Not all of Lucifer comes free. He's tethered to the flesh he's in enough that he's able to hold on, pull himself back together, restrain the nuclear reaction that's trying to escape from his skin.

Still, the curse hits him hard enough that he can't quite keep himself entirely contained within Nick. Bits of his true form slip loose, creep out of him and refuse to be held in. They're confident that it isn't a permanent spell, and that he should be able to pull himself all the way back in within a matter of time. And he's—he's dealing.

At least, Sam hopes he's dealing. He's shut himself in their motel room, refused to speak to any of them on the drive back, all of which is...possibly not a good sign.

He opens the door to the motel room with trepidation. Lucifer is sitting cross-legged on the bed, Sam's laptop balanced on his thighs. He's browsing through Wikipedia articles like he always does when he's angry or bored, glaring at the screen like he's trying to burn a hole through it.

Sam crosses the room toward him, letting his hand settle on Lucifer's shoulder. Lucifer doesn't look up, ignores it entirely.

"I don't want your pity," he says, after a moment.

"Okay," Sam says. He's doing his best not to stare, but his gaze keeps slipping back to where Lucifer's sprouted—appendages. He doesn't want to call them tentacles, makes him feel too much like he's in a bad porno, but it's blatantly what they are. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Lucifer says truculently, switching to an article on ocular diseases. He shrugs off Sam's hand and rolls his shoulders, his frustration nearly palpable.

"Alright," Sam says, and sits down on the bed next to him. Lucifer pointedly doesn't scoot over to make room for him. "Dean and Cas went out to get dinner, they should be back in an hour or so. If you—"

"You don't have to force yourself to touch me," Lucifer says abruptly. "If you're horrified by me, you're welcome to avert your eyes and sit on the other side of the room. You don't have to try to convince me you're alright with this."

Sam bites his lip, rests his hand back on Lucifer's shoulder, arm draped over his back. "Lucifer," he says.

"You know I'm a monster, Sam," Lucifer continues, seeming not to hear him. "I may look human most of the time, but you know I'm not. I'm dark, and twisted, and defiled. I am not _human_ , no matter how much you'd like to pretend I am."

"I know," Sam says, thumb rubbing little circles into Lucifer's shoulder, "I know that."

"You cannot possibly understand what Hell is like, Sam," he says, "you can't know what it does to you. How it corrupts your form, tears and twists at you, until you're unrecognizable. I was once _beautiful_ , and now—now you would cower to see my true form. You would hate and curse me. I grew abhorrent and monstrous-looking, and I embraced that, decided that if I could no longer look beautiful, I would no longer act as if I was. Until _you_." He spits the last word, voice full of vitriol, and Sam almost draws back.

"You took that from me," he continues. "Insisted on naming me beautiful, refused to allow me to be hideous and repulsive. And now see where we are."

Sam lets his hand wander over to Lucifer's neck, massaging gently, fingers drifting up into his hair and stroking in a way he hopes is reassuring. "I don't think you're ugly," he says cautiously, and Lucifer gives a harsh laugh.

"You can't know what ugly means. You're limited; human. I shone brighter than any other of my brothers. If you had known me then, you would have truly loved me."

Sam frowns, presses himself closer to Lucifer's side. "Do you think that I don't love you?" he asks quietly.

Lucifer's voice is dry, hollow. "Sam. Don't pretend I don't frighten you. I am not what you're used to, I am not what you expected to get. You know what I am, what I've done, and I don't expect to be able to keep you."

" _Lucifer_ ," Sam says, and he takes the laptop and shuts it, leaving it on the bedside table. He climbs across Lucifer's lap, hands on his shoulderblades. Forces himself to let his hands slide lower, over Lucifer's back, stroking over slick, dark skin, over the—the tentacles. They're cool to the touch, slippery without being slimy, and they seem to suck all the light out of the air around them. Vast and dark, solid, distinctly real.

"You scare me sometimes," he admits, and Lucifer exhales slowly, tensing under Sam's hands.

"You should be afraid. It would be so easy for me to hurt you, and there's nothing you could do to stop me." His hands come up to Sam's waist, clutching at his hips. "I'm the monster in your closet, Sam, the thing you were always warned against."

"Maybe I want that," Sam says, studying Lucifer's face. "Maybe I like your darkness. I've done bad things, too, you know. I think maybe we're just broken in the same way."

"Sam," Lucifer says, " _Sam_." He takes a long breath in, and Sam can feel the muscles under his fingers stretch and shudder. And then one of them is drifting out, almost unconsciously, like Lucifer can't quite help it, curling around Sam's hip and sliding up under his shirt. It's—God, it's _weird_. Not bad, just unfamiliar, unexpected. It prods at him hesitantly, wrapping itself all the way around his waist, and it's the oddest sensation, having this extra appendage touching him, while Lucifer's hands are still on him. Makes him close his eyes and sigh, just focus on the feel of Lucifer's skin on his.

"Is this alright?" Lucifer asks him, and Sam nods slowly, eyes still shut. Lucifer kisses him, one hand coming up to catch his jaw, and it's hard, with an edge of brokenness to it.

There's another tentacle on him, then, trailing along his throat, just touching, stroking. And all at once it's too much, and not enough, and he's tugging up his own shirt while plucking at the button on Lucifer's jeans, trying to do everything at once and getting tangled up in the middle of it all. Lucifer laughs gently, takes pity on him and strips them both with quiet efficiency.

And then he's—fuck, it's like there's hands all over him, but nothing like hands at all. Lucifer's eyes flutter shut, like the feeling of having half a dozen extra appendages to touch Sam with is overwhelming, but it can't be anything compared to what it feels like for Sam to have all those extra limbs all over _him_ , exploring, poking and prodding like they've never felt human skin before.

There's one reaching curiously up into his hair, flicking through it, another tracing along the curve of his jaw, down his neck. Sliding down his thighs, trailing back up and over his groin, just little, light flickers of sensation. One wraps itself around his wrist, pulls his hand back to Lucifer's spine and doesn't let go until he presses his hand against them, feeling where they meet Lucifer's skin, stroking over them. Lucifer gives a little rumbling purr of satisfaction and Sam laughs and kisses him.

"What do they feel like?" Sam asks him, lips against Lucifer's throat.

Lucifer sighs, makes a considering noise, like he's searching for adequate words. "Like... I don't know if I can explain. Different from touching you with my hands. They're closer to my true form than any of the rest of me, and they—they feel more, they're more sensitive. And they're..." He pauses, looks mildly embarrassed. "I don't exactly have full control over them. They don't always—cooperate."

Sam nods, something of an idea forming in the back of his head. "So," he starts, hesitantly, "when I..." He reaches around to Lucifer's back, pressing his fingers through the tentacles, pushing them apart, fingering them, and Lucifer takes in a long, shuddery breath. "What does that feel like?"

"Like—I—fuck, _Sam_." Lucifer groans brokenly as Sam strokes them, pressing himself tight against Lucifer to get a better angle. "I need—"

And one of them is running down his back, all the way down his spine to his ass, pressing down and then, oh _fuck_ , nudging against his hole, and Sam pulls it together enough to groan out a _yes, please_.

The feeling of it, of the tentacle, pushing inside him is unlike anything he's ever felt. He thinks he understands what Lucifer means about them being close to his true form, because there's something about the way they respond to him, and he to them. Like the way there seems to be an almost magnetic connection between him and Lucifer, the way his skin hums and his hair stands on end when they're near each other, only radically magnified. It's—oh fuck, there's another stroking up and down his side, right where Lucifer know he's sensitive and ticklish, making him squirm helplessly and gasp, clutch at the tentacles he can reach.

Lucifer's not using his hands at all, not even using them to hold Sam up, just leaving them at his sides. It's just the tentacles on him, every place he can feel something touching him is Lucifer's _tentacles_. Every one of them is on him, wrapped around him in some way, this one draped over his shoulders, that one around his waist, holding him in place.

He pushes tentatively back against the one inside him and it—God, _flickers_ inside him, thrusting in and out with remarkable dexterity. There's a strange, unfamiliar want curling inside him, and this is, it's so much better than he'd expected, _God_.

He lets out a little shuddering noise, almost like a sob, leaning forward to rest his head against Lucifer's shoulder and rocking back against him. "Fuck," he groans, and Lucifer makes a low noise of assent, the tentacle around his waist gripping tighter.

Lucifer strokes a tentacle along his inner thighs, slithers it up and down before wrapping it around his dick and Sam's breath catches on another sob. He curls and uncurls his fingers against the base of them, feeling utterly wrecked.

"Lucifer," Sam gasps, mouthing at Lucifer's shoulder, his neck, kissing him messily and frantically. The tentacle thrusts rhythmically in and out of him, pressing against his prostate, and he feels like every part of him is coming undone. "God, Lucifer." 

"Should see yourself, Sam," Lucifer says, voice shaking helplessly, "you look _ruined_. You'd beg for this, wouldn't you, so needy, and didn't I tell you we were made for each other— _fuck_ , Sam," his voice raising, going breathless.

Sam's trembling and quaking, shivering and stupid with how much he wants Lucifer in this moment.

"Yeah," he says, and he can't keep his voice steady, "yeah, God yes, like you said, Christ, Lucifer, come on, _harder_ ," he's moaning like he's being paid, but God, he just wants.

The tentacle is twisting and moving and thrusting deliciously inside him, and it's so much sensation, it's better than anything he's ever felt, and there's tentacles everywhere, all over him, pushing and pulling and tugging and bending him to Lucifer's will. He's never wanted to just give in and submit so much before this moment. And at the same time, there's a vulnerability in Lucifer's face and in the broken noises he makes, and Sam thinks that perhaps Lucifer is submitting to him just as much.

He comes with a low cry, clutching desperately at Lucifer's back, face buried in his neck, orgasm crashing over him, shuddering and shaking and sobbing. He thinks he might pass out a little.

He's limp, now, arms tight around Lucifer's neck, collapsed against him, but Lucifer isn't finished with him. There's a second tentacle tracing curiously around his entrance, nudging at it, and he doesn't even have the strength to protest when it pushes in. The other tentacles that are twined around him curl and uncurl, tighten and then loosen, and Lucifer's breathing is growing ever more ragged. He's murmuring things Sam can't make out, things that might not quite be English, and his skin is so hot against Sam's, feverishly warm. And then he's—he's swearing and coming, the tentacles gripping Sam impossibly tight and holding him close.

And now the hand stroking through his hair is just that, a hand. Lucifer's on his side, facing Sam with a look of utter contentment. The tentacles are splayed out behind him, trembling and twitching every so often, almost like they're sighing, trying to recover.

Sam gives a shaky laugh. "That was...different."

"Good different or bad different?" Lucifer's face is calm, but his voice is unsure.

Sam curves a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him in until they're breathing against each other's mouths. "Good different." He kisses Lucifer, tender. "Do you..." He clears his throat, tries again. "Do you think these'll last for a while?"

Lucifer chuckles, brings one tentacle up to curl around Sam's hips. "I think they might."

**Author's Note:**

> an addendum: later lucifer's bothering sam because he's horny and sam is like fuck off i'm trying to sleep go play with your stupid tentacles and lucifer discovers he can jerk off with them


End file.
